“I’m sorry. I just panicked. Please, let me just stay here for a day or two until I figure out what is going on. I wouldn’t know the first place to go. Please.” I can’t answer him. I’m having a hard time not getting lost in the gray, blue eyes staring down at me. I’ve had reactions like this to men before, and the last one ended up being a loser.
When he clears his throat, I finally realize that I’ve been staring for longer than necessary. He takes a step back from me, and now I’m blushing. I gently close the phonebook and put the phone back. It’s not that he’s good looking or the fact that he just begged me that has me changing my mind. The look on his face reminds me of a dog that has been beaten so much it just wants to lay down and die. Men like that are dangerous. I try to remind myself of that, but the softer, more human side of me wins.
“Fine, but if I catch you stealing, or if I feel threatened by you, so help me.” I don’t finish the sentence. I’ll leave that to his imagination. May has disappeared, and I hear another car coming up the driveway. My face pales as I look at the man in nothing but a sheet.
“I’ll, uh, make myself scarce.” Jonah nods at me once without even a thank you, and then he does just as he said. I hear the door to my room click shut and feel the knots in my stomach getting tighter. I hope it’s not Mr. Taylor again. But just in case, I grab the knife that Jonah had off the counter, and I put it on a little stand by the door.
It’s no secret that Mr. Taylor has been after this property for years, but his behavior is a little more than curious. The vehicle that pulls up to the house is not a Lexus. It’s a beat up Oldsmobile with the red paint peeling off, and I recognize the teenager that gets out. He’s six years younger than me, but he seems to think that doesn’t matter. I make sure not to smile at him too much as he ascends the steps with a dish in his hands.
“Mom wanted me to bring this over to you. She wanted me to tell you how sorry she was that she couldn’t make it this afternoon herself.” I take the dish from the dirty blond boy and lift up the lid. This won’t be going to May or the outside critters either, Mrs. Hash makes the best blueberry pie in the entire state.
“Tell her that it’s alright, Lee. I truly appreciate the pie, and tell her that I’m thankful she’s thinking of me.” Lee’s cheeks flush as he scuffs his shoe back and forth on my porch. He has his hands in his pockets and looks everything like the nervous teenage boy.
“So, uh, how are you holding up?” I sincerely hope he cannot smell the liquor on my breath. If he returns to his mother and reports that I’ve been drinking, the entire town will be on my doorstep for the next month.
“I’m doing fine.” There is a second where neither one of us say a word. Then, “I have a lot do to today, thanks for bringing this over.” I take a step back into the house and Lee nods once. He waves once before he gets into his beat up car, and I let out a sigh of resignation. That boy is never going to stop being shy around me, but maybe that’s a good thing. I wouldn’t want him getting the nerve up to ask me on a date or something.
Soon the people who are showing up on my doorstep are going to realize that I haven’t done a thing to this house. I’ve been spending my days on my laptop, attempting to keep my meager income from disappearing. I own a blogging website that obtains revenue from advertising, and it’s not easy keeping the members interested. I’m also afraid to get started on this house because it will make this entire experience reality.
I put the pie on the counter and tap May on the nose when I see her sniffing the air. It’s about time for lunch, so I pull out a can of dog food and plop it into a bowl. I’m not sure what my father actually fed her, because when I got here there was nothing in the cabinets. She might have been purely and outside dog, but it still seems odd that he didn’t have food around.
The shower in the bathroom adjacent to the guest room I was using turns on and I feel a tension in my shoulders relax. May gulps down her food while I shamelessly pile blueberry pie into my mouth with a fork. I eat my fill of the dessert, and then I make my way up the narrow stairwell to the second floor. I haven’t been up here in three days.
This is where it happened. Even though the room has been cleaned, the stains still remain. I rummage around my father’s old dresser and find a pair of pants that were too large for him, but they might fit Jonah. For a few seconds, I sit down on the bed and put the folded pair of jeans to my face. They still smell like his body wash and faintly of cigars. After my mother died, he started smoking cigars instead.
The water downstairs quiets, so I hurry downstairs and leave the jeans in the middle of the bed. He ought to see them there. Then I make my way to the kitchen again and stare at the bottle of brandy on the countertop. I haven’t touched that stuff in over a year, and I shouldn’t have touched it now. My fingers shake as I uncap the bottle and pour the rest of it down the drain.
Jonah chooses that moment to walk into the kitchen, but he doesn’t say a word about the fact that I’m pouring an entire bottle of brandy down the drain. Instead, he opens up the fridge, and I see a frown form on his face. He’s frowning because there’s absolutely nothing in the fridge. He glances at me, and I shrug one shoulder.
“In the freezer there are some TV dinners if you’re hungry. Oh, and pie that Mrs. Hash sent over.” I point at the pie, and immediately try to think of something to do to get myself out of the kitchen. I should have gotten him a shirt while I was up there, but I don’t think any of them would have fit.
“Thanks.” Before I can bolt out of there like a hare escaping from a trap, Jonah puts a hand on my shoulder. I stiffen under his touch, and I know he can sense it. But he doesn’t let go. “I really appreciate you doing this, Ana.” He must have heard Mr. Taylor call me that.
“It’s Anastasia. I don’t know why everyone in this town hates calling me by my real name.” With that said, I leave him in the kitchen to forage for himself. I’m going to take May out for a walk and inspect the barn. Perhaps I can find something for Jonah to do in there that will keep him out of the house. I desperately need him to be out of the house.
There’s a leash hanging by the door, but I’ve never put it on May. She follows me around and listens quite well, except for when she’s rolling in deer dung. I keep an eye on her as we make our way to the barn through the dry grass. The hot, August air is oppressive now. It’s nothing like it was this morning. The poor dog is panting by the time we get into the shade of the barn, but it’s not much better inside. In fact, it’s like stepping into an oven!
“Whoo, I guess we’re not going to be in here for long, right May?” I pat her on the head and glance around the old place. This is actually the first time that I’ve walked in here. In fact, I haven’t walked around the property at all since I arrived seven days prior.
Maybe if I open up the doors on either end some of the heat will waft out. I try not to pass out as I make it to the other side of the barn and struggle to open up the doors. As I’m trying to get them open, May starts barking. The noise frustrates me and frightens me at the same time. Is someone coming up the driveway? Will they see that Jonah is in my father’s old house? And what if it’s Mr. Taylor again?
Just as the worst scenario starts playing through my mind, a possum comes lumbering out one of the stalls. It’s larger than a house cat, and the hair on its back is standing on end. I reach down before May can go after it. My fingers grasp into the hair at the nape of her neck, but she doesn’t go after it. May’s smarter than that.
I watch the possum head out the doors I came in and let out a sigh of relief. It didn’t look ill; just a little sleepy considering it was probably taking its afternoon nap in one of the stalls. I manage to get the sliding doors to slide finally. Then I stand in the middle of the barn as the hot air wafts out and cooler air starts to waft in. But it’s not cool enough.
I might risk the heat stroke just to get away from my strange house guest for a few more hours, but May looks as if she might keel over. She follows me at a terribly slow pace back to the house
with her head hanging and her tongue almost touching the ground. By the time I get to the house, I have sweat on my forehead.
A blast of cold air hits me in the face as I open up the front door, and I almost stumble back in shock. The air conditioner in this place is broken. It’s an ancient central air system that was installed back in the seventies, and severely needs updated. May doesn’t seem upset by the change in atmosphere. She bounds past me like the gates of Heaven have just opened up. I reluctantly close the door behind me and cross my arms over my chest in the cool air.
“Why do you wear jeans and long sleeved shirts in the summer? Are you trying to kill yourself?” Jonah’s sudden appearance at the kitchen doorway startles me, but I manage not to jump out of my skin. By the tiny grin on his face, I can tell he knows he frightened me.
“No, it’s none of your business anyway. The air conditioning was broken, did you just start it up?” If he asks about my clothes again, I’m going to have to kick him out. He seems to understand that and moves on to my question.
“It just needed tweaked a little, and cleaned. It desperately needed cleaned.” That would explain the dirt up his arms. My next words almost get stuck in my throat because I don’t want him to think that I like having him here.
“Thank you.” There’s this awkward moment where I keep my chin raised in the air, and Jonah just stares at me.
“So I noticed your stuff is in that room. I figured I could take the room upstairs since you’re settled in there already.” There are two rooms upstairs, but he must mean the one that used to be mine when I was a kid. The room downstairs was built for my great-great-grandfather when he became ill.
“No, that’s alright. You can stay in that room. I’ll take the room upstairs.” Finally, with something to do, I uncross my arms and make my way back to the room. The traitor dog decides to stay in the kitchen with Jonah rather than follow me around anymore. Then again, he didn’t lead her outside into the blistering heat.
Chapter Two
Jonah
She’s feisty, and she’s everything that her father told me she had grown up to be. I grip the bridge of my nose as the pain starts up again. I cannot remember anything about the night her father died, but I do remember snippets of conversations with him. I also remember Mr. Taylor, but other than the fact that he puts his hands on Anastasia, I cannot remember why I hate the man so much.
“Get it together,” I whisper to myself. The dog, May, I remember her. Apparently she remembers me as well, but she’s leerier around me than she used to be. As I’m trying to focus on the present, the past begins to weigh down on me. A fog rolls over my vision and I stumble into a kitchen chair.
“I’ll let you stay here if you promise that you will come down each morning to take your medication.” Mr. D’Salvatore plops the plastic bottle down onto the linoleum countertop. He keeps his fingers gently touching the prescription bottle as his hand rests on the countertop. I rub my hands over my face and try to come up with an excuse as to why I cannot take the medication, but there is none that Mr. D’Salvatore will accept.
“I have been trying to learn to deal with this for six years.” I take my hands away from my face and stare at the bottle.
“Sometimes things cannot be dealt with Jonah. What if you were to lose control again and this time you made it to town?” Mr. D’Salvatore is right. He’s always right. Perhaps that is why I want to tell this old man that I will not be taking the medication, but that might be my inner demon escaping. What if it’s not me making the decision? So I stand up from my seat at the kitchen table, and I swipe the prescription bottle off the counter.
Mr. D’Salvatore grabs me a glass and fills it with water. He hands it over to me, and watches as I take my medication.
“There are some ground rules we have to discuss before I say yes to you staying here. First and foremost-”
The vision cuts off. I try to catch my breath as I lean against the countertop with both hands. When did I get out of the chair? May whimpers by my side as she leans into me, and then I notice that Anastasia is standing in the doorway of the kitchen with her mouth hanging open and her hands dangling at her side. I’m gripping the countertop like a madman, and I know how this all looks.
“I’m sorry, it was just a flashback of something. I guess my memory is coming back.” She doesn’t look convinced enough, so I flounder for something else to say.
“What have you been learning to deal with for six years?” She sounds afraid, and part of me wonders if maybe she should be.
“I don’t remember.” I try to say it without force, but the words come out between clenched teeth anyway. My heart is pounding in my chest like an uneven drum roll, and somewhere between the vision and me coming to sweat popped onto my forehead. The back of my hand goes up automatically to wipe the telltale beads away.
“You have to remember something! That was a pretty strong memory, Jonah.” The way my name rolls off her tongue makes my shoulders go rigid. This is all too familiar somehow as if I’m having the same conversation over again. I try to stop it, but the fog starts to roll over me and I manage to bolt out of the house before I can give away any more details about my past to Anastasia.
I’m walking through the woods behind Mr. D’Salvatore with May at my side. The dog stops to sniff at a pile of feces on the side of the trail, and Mr. D’Salvatore snaps his fingers to get her attention. I grin to myself because I know exactly what she was planning next. I used to have a dog when I was a kid, but I shove that thought aside. This is a new life. I don’t want to remember the old one.
“As I was saying, son, there are a few ground rules. When my daughter comes to visit, I don’t want you to tell her what you’re doing here. As far as she knows, you’re just a farmhand. Second, you’re a farmhand that won’t be getting involved with my daughter.” I nod in agreement with him. There’s no reason for me to be getting involved with anyone of the opposite gender. Relationships sap too much out of me these days, and they bring about episodes.
“I thought I was going to be helping you on the farm?” He makes it sound as if being a farmhand is just a cover and an excuse. The man in front of me with graying hair and an easy smile turns around to give me a serious look.
“You are, and I expect you to be on time every morning. No excuses! Hard work always cures a man.” I can’t disagree with him on that one. When my hands are busy, my mind is focused. It doesn’t have enough time to wander.
The next thing I know, the memory has fast forwarded. We’re standing in front of a tiny cabin nestled between several large pine trees. Mr. D’Salvatore pulls out a small key from his pocket and unlocks the front door of the cabin. It’s of very sturdy construction, but it’s small. There are only two rooms, one of those being a bathroom. He takes my hand in his and slips the key into my palm.
“It’s equipped with power supplied by an underground line. So you have lights and four outlets. One of those outlets is in the bathroom. I also installed an instant hot water heater which powers both the shower and the two sinks.” He goes on as he points out the small, stand-alone pantry in the kitchenette, and the sleeping area. It’s furnished with a single day bed off on the furthest wall from the entrance, and a set of four dishes.
It’s perfect for me.
May’s barking brings me back to reality. I’m kneeling within the cabin with scraped knees and palms. A few sticks are hanging on my shirt, and I rip at them angrily as I try to calm my breathing. My eyes close against the onslaught of the sun shining in through one of the clean windows. At least my housekeeping skills were not lacking. I’m starting to remember more.
The door to the cabin is open, and a warm breeze wafts over me. Then the dog finally comes through the doorway and stops dead in her tracks. She knows she’s not allowed in here if she’s rolled in deer shit, and it looks as if she has. I point at the door without a word, just a look, and she tucks her tail between her legs as she leaves.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself as I
rub my hands over my face. I can only hope that Anastasia did not follow me up here. I don’t hear her talking to the dog so I can assume that she’s not nearby.
I manage to get up on my feet and begin exploring what is my home. There’s some food in the pantry. It’s simple things like pasta and canned sauce along with some dehydrated dinners. Apparently I wasn’t much of a cook. I finally find what I’m looking for in the bathroom. Only two pills are left in the bottle, which means I have two days that I might be able to feel normal.
My hands tremble as I try to twist open the cap, and then the unthinkable happens. My traitor hands slip on the bottle, and the last two pills make a tinkling noise as they fall down the drain of the sink. May barks outside of the cabin and the sound makes my entire body tense up. I try to close my eyes against what I know is going to happen, but it happens anyway. The pressure in my head becomes so intense that I feel as though it might explode, and then suddenly it’s all gone.
“You thought you could get rid of me!” I look at myself in the mirror and feel the scratchy voice come out of my own throat. But it’s not me talking, it’s him. Then all reality is lost as his face shifts into someone else’s entirely.
“What are you doing here Tom?” The man staring back at me has gray eyes without a hint of blue. His lip is up in a sneer as he scoffs at me, and his jet black hair is slicked back with way too much hair gel. We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for years, but two years ago he made a permanent appearance, at least until I got a hold of the pills.
“I’m here to save your ass again. What is it you did this time? Did you actually follow my advice and rape the girl, or did you kill the old man?” I feel an inexplicable rage build up inside of me at his crass accusations, and before I know it my hand is balled up into a fist. I try to keep it down, but my body is not my own anymore. My knuckles crunch into the glass and split painfully as I wreck the mirror.
But that never gets rid of him.
My Kind Of Crazy Page 2